Twist and Shout
by Lock Owl
Summary: When Aragorn's son is slain and his daughter is the main suspect, he is torn between allegiances. As Aralya struggles to prove her innocence, Arwen develops an illness deeper than Aragorn can heal. Either all shall come together, or all shall fall apart.
1. Chapter I

Disclaimer: Anything recognizable from The Lord of the Rings does not belong to me. Aralya, Margate, and Boromir (the younger) belong to my friend JediKnightBalthasar.  
  
This story is slightly AU, as the books wrote that Elessar had only one son, but it sort-of is not AU. You'll see what I mean in later chapters.  
  
*****  
  
"Tell the king his sons have been born."  
  
"My lady?" Legolas was surprised. Lie to Aragorn? That was something he had not done before. Why did Arwen ask this of him?  
  
"His heart was set on boys, tell him he has his sons. Please," the first part of Arwen's statement had been a request, almost an order, but with that last word her voice had dropped from commanding to begging.  
  
"Of course, be iest lin," Legolas replied quickly. "And of the other. . .?" This he would not decide on his own; it was Arwen's right and hers alone.  
  
"Tell him not of the other," Arwen decreed.  
  
"I will," Legolas said with a nod. He slipped from his level of formality, to the informality of old friends. "Arwen, are you all right?"  
  
"Just fine, Legolas. I am fine." Her voice was dead, hollow. "Please tell Aragorn--" she stopped, but was not interrupted.  
  
"I will," Legolas repeated. He stood and walked to the door, turning slightly with his hand on the doorknob, thinking he had heard something, but Arwen had fallen asleep. Had it been his imagination, or had she said it out loud? "I vethed. . ." It is the end. What end? Legolas shook his head, wishing he were not involved. "This is not treason," Legolas told himself quietly. Nevertheless, it felt like betrayal.  
  
The letter, composed by Legolas for King Elessar, was not filled with lies, only a lack of truth. Not once did the letter refer more than one boy, simply to "the twins". Perhaps a few lies would have been necessary, had Arwen not used masculine names for both of the twins. She and Elessar had agreed upon the names, two names for boys and one in case Arwen had a daughter. Instead of deciding on a name of her own, Arwen used the second boy's name for her second daughter.  
  
"Boromir and Aralya," Legolas wrote, guilt gnawing at him, "are healthy children, despite complications." He paused. Were there really complications? His mind strayed back to the night Boromir (named, of course, for the fallen hero) was born, the next morning when Aralya was born. Eleven hours, the two had taken together. Arwen had thought something was wrong, for she was still in pain. Twenty-five hours, more than an entire day, passed after the birth of Aralya, and then the second daughter. . .the stillborn.  
  
Excepting certain truths, Legolas signed the letter. 17 June, he noted in the upper right corner, then he folded the letter and placed it inside an envelope. Tilting one of the candles he had used for light, Legolas dripped white sealing wax onto the envelope, stamped it with the image of a tree, and he sighed.  
  
The deed was done. For a moment the idea of a second letter, explaining everything, passed through Legolas's mind, but he decided against it. What Arwen did when Elessar returned was fully her decision.  
  
*****  
  
"Melamin," Elessar said, embracing Arwen for the first time in years. Arwen could not respond. Fear muted her, the fear and knowledge that Elessar would soon know of her treachery. A part of her wished she had asked Legolas to stay, but he had children of his own and things to get done, and it would have been selfish to ask more of his time. "Is something wrong?" Elessar asked.  
  
"Estel-nin. . ." Arwen said softly.  
  
"Mani naa ta?" Elessar asked, worried. "Mani i raika?"  
  
"Nothing," Arwen said hurriedly. "All is well." There was a small sound from their right, down the corridor. Arwen bit her lip. "Perhaps not all."  
  
Arwen was suddenly hopeful. She had grown to love her youngest daughter, difficult as it was for her to do so, and was afraid of what Elessar's reaction to learning that she was a girl would be. When he asked her pardon and left to speak to Eldarion, Arwen's spirits rose. Perhaps it would not matter to him.  
  
Meanwhile, Eldarion pretended to be asleep. He had not meant to do anything wrong, but intention was of little consequence. "Eldarion," Elessar said softly, gathering his son's hair from his face, "I'm sorry for being gone so long."  
  
"You had no choice, I understand," Eldarion replied. His heart still remembered the ache of those years, which had felt so long. Hardly nine the last time he saw his father, the prince was now thirteen.  
  
"That may be an explanation, but it is no excuse," Elessar said, voicing Eldarion's thoughts. "Years have passed, years which cannot be given back. You are hardly a child any longer, Eldarion. Will you not allow me to see you?"  
  
"Please do not be disappointed," Eldarion requested, rolling to face his father. The two allowed their eyes to meet, and for some reason both known and unknown to them, they began to laugh. They embraced once, still laughing, and somehow knew that this was the closest thing to those years being given back: their relationship, the bond between them, was the same as it had ever been.  
  
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Be iest lin = According to your wish  
  
I vethed = It is the end  
  
Estel-nin = My hope (Aragorn was, in his youth, known by the name of Estel, so this could also be "My Hope" meaning the person)  
  
Mani naa ta, mani i raika = What is it, what is wrong  
  
That was just an introduction, more coming later! This story is sort of taking my friend's characters and writing a story for them, asking what would happen if. If anyone is familiar with her works, then they'll understand later, if not then this is just a story about Aragorn and Arwen's children. 


	2. Chapter II

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any recognizable characters or places.  
  
*****  
  
Aralya rubbed her stick of charcoal over the paper, trying to draw a figure properly. With her skills still developing, the picture looked like all right, save the improper porportions and the oval-shaped head. "Does this look all right to you?" Aralya asked her brother.  
  
"Hmm. . ." Boromir said, scrutinizing the page. He took the charcoal from Aralya, and the paper, and drew a few quick lines. When Aralya looked at the paper again, she grimaced. Boromir laughed. Aralya jumped forward, tackling him to the ground. Boromir rolled his sister back to the ground, trying to pin her. Aralya flipped them both, gaining the upper hand. For a while they battled, their nurse knowing too well that there was no point in separating them; they were only having fun.  
  
"Gotcha!" Boromir exclaimed. Aralya had paused, standing completely defenseless, and Boromir took this chance to tackle her to the ground.  
  
"Orc-head," Aralya teased, "look." She jerked her head in the direction of the door.  
  
"By the Valar. . ." Boromir whispered, getting to his feet. Aralya smirked, as much as a three-year-old can smirk, and also stood.  
  
*Who is that?*  
  
*That's Mother, silly.*  
  
*Clearly, but who is he?*  
  
"How should I know?" Aralya asked out loud. "You would know if I knew." Impeccable logic, which Boromir was unable to deny. Still both wanted to know who this stranger was, being unused to seeing people they did not know. "I'm sorry," Aralya said with perfected manners, "but who are you?"  
  
No response came to her question. Elessar was unable to answer, shocked. He turned to Arwen, trying to ask for an explanation, but the words stuck in his throat. "You told me I had a son. . ." he managed to say before words fled. Finally he swallowed hard, then turned and walked away.  
  
"You don't have to be rude!" Aralya shouted after him, angry tears welling in her eyes. What did she do wrong? Arwen stood in the doorway, torn between her daughter and her husband. Aralya made to decision for her, running to a vent in the floor and pulling the cover off it, squirming inside just far enough that she could not be reached. Boromir went to Aralya as Arwen went to Elessar.  
  
"Maybe he did not know any better," Boromir said softly. Aralya choked on a sob, trying to respond in the manner he had approached. She failed.  
  
*He knew better* she said bitterly.  
  
*He looked upset.*  
  
*What did I do to upset him?*  
  
Boromir shifted his weight, and crawled to his sister inside the vent. She was smaller then him, but both could manage to sit in their small sanctuary. By now Idylia, their nurse, was up and trying to get them out, but they were ignoring her. *It hardly matters, anyways. You know how grown- ups are.*  
  
*Yes, I know,* Aralya admitted, cleaning off her face with the long sleeve of her dress. *But it is unfair.*  
  
*I suppose it always will be.* Boromir reached out, his small hand finding Aralya's. *There are two of us against all of them. As long as I am here, you need only be half as strong.*  
  
*You know I love you, do you not, Boromir?*  
  
*Of course I know. You are my baby sister, and always will be.*  
  
Boromir and Aralya tumbled out of the vent, laughing as they sparred again. "Some day you will be big enough to win," Boromir said as he helped Aralya to her feet.  
  
"It will not be long, so you had better gloat now," Aralya replied. "Wait. . ." Boromir laughed.  
  
*****  
  
"What are you going to do?" Arwen asked.  
  
"I am going to write to Legolas," Elessar replied, scribbling angrily. "He had no right to lie to me--"  
  
"I asked him to!" Arwen interrupted. "Estel, you and Legolas have been friends for practically your entire lives. He never wished to lie to you, but I asked him. . .you wanted sons so badly, Elessar. What was I to do?" Tears were forming in her eyes at the memory of that difficult birth. "We never even had a second girl's name chosen! Legolas named her Ariell. It was the most he could do."  
  
"A second name?" Elessar asked. Something was not making sense to him. "Why did you need a second name?"  
  
"There was. . ." Arwen was not ready to tell this story, not to the man who she feared would have her youngest child killed.  
  
"Arwen," Elessar said softly, going to her and lightly touching her cheek. "No harm will come to her. You know I would not do that. But you must tell me what happened."  
  
"There was another child," Arwen whispered, trying without success to blink back tears. "Another girl. It took her so long to come out into the world, more than a day after Aralya. . .I kept thinking, how perfect this little one would be. I just knew that she would be able to light up the world with her smile. When she was born, there was no crying. My child, my perfect daughter, was born still."  
  
Arwen could no longer go on. Elessar held her, knowing all he needed to know, doing his best to comfort his distraught wife. She gave up immortality for me, he thought. Yet I was not enough for her, was I? I lacked. . ."I am so sorry, Arwen," he whispered. She nodded as if she understood, but through her sorrow she had not heard his words.  
  
*****  
  
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I guess there will be some A/A in later chapters. For now, just establishing mood. Longer chapter next time, with a big event.  
  
Good readers review! (please) 


	3. Chapter III

Disclaimer: I do not Lord of the Rings, however the characters Aralya, Bjourn, and Boromir (the younger) are of my creation and please ask before using them. Oh, and Idylia is my creation, as well.  
  
Natters and Morothewolfgod: Thanks, and I appreciate knowing that someone enjoys my story!  
  
Taraisilwen: What's confusing? I'll try to clarify. Also, yes, they love each other very much. Shall I try to put in more sappy scenes between the two? Thanks for your review!  
  
*****  
  
Aralya and Boromir kept their hands firmly locked on each other's shoulders, tumbling down the grassy knoll. Both hit their heads and scraped their backs as they bumped over each other, but neither relented. They rolled to a stop, struggling against each other. Aralya, then Boromir, gained ground. Finally Aralya managed to flip Boromir onto his stomach, arms wrenched back, her knee on his back to pin him down.  
  
"I won!" she insisted.  
  
"Ow," Boromir replied. Then, stubbornly and partially joking, "no."  
  
"Say it! Say that I won!" Aralya yelled, but a playful yell, and at the same time a command  
  
"I won!" Boromir replied. "I won!" Aralya, lacking appendages, bit him on the hand. Boromir took this opportunity to slam backwards. Naturally she snapped her head back, and Boromir used the momentum and slight lapse in concentration to turn her onto her back. With an "oof" Aralya's head smacked the ground. "Say it," Boromir said with a semi-malicious grin.  
  
"It," Aralya replied. Boromir smiled at her toothy grin, disheveled black hair and sparkling, playful green eyes. Aralya's grin widened at her brother's subtle smile, his own hair unnaturally aligned and his sky-blue eyes alight with mirth. Mirth. . .she rolled the word in her mind, on her mental tongue, and she liked it.  
  
"Oh, getting smart, are we?" Boromir taunted. Aralya slipped her eyes to the side to distract him, then--as he was pinning her arms, used her legs to kick him on the upper thigh. Having long since shed their boots, the children both knew that a bare foot would do little, however little was enough.  
  
"Say--" Aralya began, but she was interrupted by a call from a window high above them.  
  
"Boromir! Aralya! I want both of you to come inside," Arwen called to her children. "It is getting late."  
  
"But Mother--" Aralya began. Boromir shushed her with a quick shake of his head. Aralya submitted. The twins trudged up the hill, gathering discarded items as they went. Each picked up two boots and two socks, a cape and a jacket. Aralya gathered up and extra item, one her brother needed not worry about, and gazed spitefully at the thick green ribbon in her hand.  
  
*****  
  
"She is a wild one," Arwen mused, watching her daughter. "Different, unlike so many others. She will always be free."  
  
"Perhaps it comes of being Numenorian," Elessar suggested. Arwen gasped and turned, not having heard him enter. Elessar smiled, moving closer to the window beside his wife, watching the children make their way slowly home. "This always being free that you speak of. No one will ever truly have her."  
  
"Just like you," Arwen whispered. She knew it was important business, being King, but still she wished Elessar had more time to spend with his family. His children needed him, and by mercy she needed him as well.  
  
"Oh, Arwen," Elessar sighed, but not an exasperated sigh, an almost happy sigh, as he wound his arms around her waist. "You will always have me."  
  
As they kissed, they thought of each other, and of how much they had sacrificed to be together, and how, after all, it had been worthwhile. As the kiss ended, Arwen thought of how scratchy it felt to kiss a man with a beard. Elessar allowed his gaze to slip to the horizon, where the sun had set and the last glows of light only remained. "Is my love enough?" Elessar joked.  
  
"It always shall be," Arwen replied. "And now, melamin, it is time for supper. Come, you know the children will not want to wait." She referred to 'the children', but meant the four of them that were not off and married-- Eldarion, the eldest son, who at twenty-three years was still devoting his love to politics, Bjourn, who at two years was only just beginning to take part in conversations, and the twins, Aralya and Boromir. "I love them all so much," Arwen reflected, "but they would not be here if I did not love you."  
  
*****  
  
"Aralya," Boromir said, but his voice shut off when he saw her face. Gone was the youthful exuberance of their earlier play, gone was the child within. Coldness had come over her, a coldness even Boromir was not within. But as with all things the spell broke, and Aralya looked up.  
  
"We should get going," Aralya said. Boromir nodded gravely; his sister's spell gone, her mood grew to him. "Race you!" she shouted suddenly, and took off, hair flying out behind her and laugh carrying in the wind.  
  
"Cheater!" Boromir accused as he took off after her. The two burst into their home, which they preferred to think of as an atmosphere ("home") more than an edifice. Through halls of stone they scrambled, laughter echoing after them and bouncing ahead. Aralya tripped and Boromir took the lead, but with a burst of sudden speed Aralya crashed through the doors into the dining hall. Boromir came to a short stop beside her.  
  
For a moment everything froze. Aralya and Boromir stood in the doorway, panting, chests heaving. The buttons had fallen or been tugged off Boromir's vest in the day's play, and his shirt had come untucked. Aralya had not bothered (had forgotten) to change into the appropriate garb, in place of a cress she wore a boy's tunic (Boromir's, in this case) and leggings, terribly grass-stained. Eldarion, Arwen, Elessar, and Bjourn stared at them, as if awaiting an explanation.  
  
"Mother," Aralya acknowledged with a cordial tilt of her head, "Ada. We apologize for our. . .lateness," she finished with a sly voice, hiding nothing.  
  
"Not at all," Elessar said lightly, motioning for the twins to sit down. They did so, not daring to glance at each other least they laugh until they cried. The meal commenced in an unearthly silence, until Elessar finally broke and said through laughter, "You should have seen your faces!"  
  
"Our faces!" Aralya exclaimed. "What about yours?" Most subjects did not speak this way to their king, even most daughters did not speak this way to their fathers, but Aralya and Elessar were quite different from 'most'. A secret smile seemed to echo throughout the halls as the royal family of Gondor was, for once, just that--a family.  
  
*****  
  
Aralya clutched the coverlet close to her chest as she bolted into a sitting position. Her breath was labored, but not in a manner of hard play-- in a manner of great fear. Sweat dripped from her forehead, poured down her back and washed over her sides. *Boromir?* she asked, hope and fear apparent. No answer came to her. *Boromir!* she shouted.  
  
Trouble. It was something Aralya could sense, as though smelling it in the air. As she jumped out of bed and drew her sword, trouble cracked like blue fire in the surrounding air. Something had brought on that feeling of terror, and it had not been a dream.  
  
Aralya's bare skin slapped the cold stone of the hall, and though her spine shivered she did not slow or turn back. With a sword clutched in her hand and clad in a white nightgown, Aralya looked like a vengeful ghost. Her pulse quickened, and she felt a sharp pain in her side. She grabbed her side, where the pain was, and fell against the wall, but did not give up. Fighting, she made her way further down the corridor.  
  
Reaching Boromir's door, Aralya did not pause. She threw open the door and entered; and gasped. Blood, everywhere blood. The dresser, the walls, the bed, the curtains; even where Aralya stood was a puddle of blood.  
  
Her muscles tensed up in shock as tears came to her eyes. Her fingers unclenched, and her sword clattered to the ground. The weapon immediately turned red with blood, the first dead blood ever to touch the metal of the blade.  
  
Aralya's eyes had snapped shut the second she saw the blood, but with a shaky breath she forced them open again. The sight that met her was not pleasant. The blood remained, but the worst part she noticed newly now: a body from whence the blood had come.  
  
"Boromir," she gasped, going to him. Falling to her knees, Aralya held her brother's head with a gentle tenderness she did not know she had.  
  
"Aralya. . ." his voice was weak, and each word a great struggle.  
  
"S-s-shh," Aralya told him, trying not to cry, "do not speak. You will be all right, Boromir, you will, just hang in there."  
  
"No. . .I love you for ever, my sister. Take care of yourself," Boromir croaked out. Though his eyes showed great pain, they showed also sorrow, and a longing. *Be good, baby girl.*  
  
In her head the voice was as strong and as healthy as ever, and for a moment she did not believe that he was so hurt. It was all a trick, some cruel dream from which she would soon awaken. And when she woke, Boromir would be by her side again.  
  
But he would not, nor would he ever be again. Aralya felt in her soul the flutter as Boromir's light flickered, weakened, and then went out for ever.  
  
She howled; a wordless, animal cry of raw pain. The shout echoed throughout the corridors and from room to room. Those who were asleep awoke with a chill in their bones. Those who were awake wondered what creature could make so awful a noise, what animal could out scream an orc with the voiced grace of a swan.  
  
In the room of the second prince of Gondor, a lone girl broke down in tears. She buried her head in the blood-washed hair of her dead brother. Sobs escaped her lips as she rocked back and forth, back and forth, with his body in her arms.  
  
Aralya ached all over. Indeed, when he had left their world, Boromir had been ripped away from Aralya. The two were more than inseparable, they were in each other's minds and thoughts, their very emotions were shared.  
  
A white-hot pain had scorched Aralya, almost as if someone had set a torch to her stomach. The cadaver that had once been her other half gave her no comfort, but something to cling on to. An anchor, lest she, too slip away.  
  
In the doorway, Arwen and Elessar stood, Eldarion behind them, none sure of what to do. Elessar took a step forward, then another, until his hand rested on Aralya's shoulder. She flew back and against the wall, letting the body fall from her hands. "It is all right," Elessar said softly, reaching out to her.  
  
"No," Aralya whimpered. She tried to huddle into a ball, tried to protect herself from the fact that Boromir had gone, but there was nowhere to flee to. When she closed her eyes she saw his lifeless face, when she opened them she saw his blood.  
  
At last Aralya slowly, slowly stopped crying. Deliberately she turned her head, peering at her fallen brother. As soon as she saw the body, she rushed to it, again cradling, and at the same time holding with a vice grip, as if the carcass was her life.  
  
"Come now, Aralya," Elessar said softly. "Let him go, child." But Aralya shook her head, sobbing and shaking as she clung to the body of her other. Elessar had no wish to do what he knew to be necessary. Reaching forward, he lifted Aralya's hands, finger by finger, until they were free of Boromir's body, then he held her wrists tightly so she would not go again to the deceased.  
  
"No, no, no," Aralya was sobbing. She thrashed but Elessar was stronger, despite her anger, despite her shame, and despite her grief.  
  
"Come on, Aralya," Elessar instructed, half-helping and half-forcing her to stand.  
  
Aralya began to fall. She was not retreating to the cover of a dead skin, but her knees would no longer support her. Elessar caught her before she hit the floor.  
  
"All right, perhaps you are not in the condition to walk," he said gently. With one arm around her shoulders, Elessar managed to lead Aralya from the room, back to her own bed. She fell asleep at once.  
  
"What will we do?" Arwen asked. She had not been in such a situation before, but Elessar seemed to know what he was doing.  
  
"Tend to Aralya," Elessar instructed. "She must not wake up with blood on her hands and face. Try to clean her as best you can, then wait until I get back. The last thing we need is for her to awaken alone, she has been through enough. I will see to matters about Boromir."  
  
Arwen nodded dumbly. As Elessar strode from the room, she turned to the window where Aralya always kept a bowl of water soaked with lavender. Usually Aralya used this water to wash her face in the morning. Now Arwen drew the bowl and cloth to her. Wetting the cloth, she gently lifted her daughter's arm and began to rub away the blood.  
  
*****  
  
It's not over yet! Well, I did promise a longer chapter and a big event. . .  
  
Mwu ha ha ha ha!  
  
Remember, good readers review! (and I will probably be too busy to update for a couple days, but if you absolutely must have more I shall try to get in a short chapter for you) 


	4. Chapter IV

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any recognizable characters and/or places. Aralya, Margate, Bjourn, Idylia, and Boromir (the younger) are property of my friend JediKnightBalthasar.  
  
Taraisilwen: Well, if you ever think of a way to express what it is that's confusing you let me known, because I would be glad to straighten things out. Thanks, and I am doing my best.  
  
Lady of Legolas: What happened? Well, Boromir died a very gruesome death. Who killed Boromir? Ah, for that you must wait. When's the next update? Right now!  
  
Thanks for taking the time to review! I appreciate it!  
  
*****  
  
The next morning, as the sun streamed in through an open window, Aralya moaned and rolled onto her side. She did not recall, for the moment, the events of the previous night. Suddenly it hit her, and she sat up, preparing to stand. Before she was out of bed, however, something stopped her.  
  
Aralya's hands flew to her eyes. They were wide open. She blinked and shook her head, but whatever was wrong seemed that it would not be shaken. "Aralya, are you all right?"  
  
"Who said that?" Aralya demanded, spinning her head around as if this would help her see. "Who's there?" Without her vision, the sense upon which Men and Elves rely above all others, she was confused and her mind was confused with her.  
  
"Aralya, it is only me," Elessar said, worried. What was wrong with her? She knew him, did she not? For a moment Elessar wondered if his daughter had perhaps lost her memory, but this seemed highly unlikely.  
  
"I cannot see you," Aralya said. "I can see nothing!"  
  
"Please, calm down. There is no need for hysterics. You are perfectly safe," Elessar said logically. Aralya, he knew, preferred logical explanations to any other form of comfort. She liked being able to know something for a fact, which she would rely upon as truth and lean upon as a crutch.  
  
A gloss seemed to pass from Aralya's eyes as her breathing steadied, and she blinked. Her optical binding had been removed, it seemed. "Why did that just happen?" she asked, gazing intently at Elessar as if he could answer this question for her.  
  
"I cannot say," he informed her sadly, shaking his head. "How are you?"  
  
Now her eyes changed again, to a coldness. "How should I be?" she asked. "My heart aches for reasons I cannot seem to recall-" for in her terror all had flown from her head "--and I awoke with no abilities of sight."  
  
"Your heart aches for your brother," Elessar said sadly. He had not mourned the death of his son, fearing too much the safety of the rest of his family and the emotional safety of Aralya.  
  
"Oh, yes. . ." said Aralya, and she wept then, for the loss of her brother was one greater than most could imagine. Tears rose to the brims of her eyelids and spilled over, rivers running down her cheeks. She squeezed her eyes shut, as if this would stop the tears from coming, but it did not, and would not.  
  
"It's all right to cry," Elessar said softly. "He's happier where he is now. It will be all right." Gently he extended an arm to Aralya, offering her the comfort of human warmth. As soon as his skin brushed against hers she shouted, and jumped away. Aralya huddled in the corner of her room, wedged between the well and the dresser. She shivered and shook as she sobbed. "What is it? I mean you no harm."  
  
"Do not touch me!" Aralya warned. "And do not love me! Everyone that loves me dies!"  
  
"This is not so," Elessar whispered, approaching her slowly, carefully. "I love you very much, Aralya, and so does your mother and Eldarion, and all three of us are just fine."  
  
"But you all are going to die," Aralya said.  
  
"In time, yes, but it will not be by your fault," Elessar assured her. Aralya curled tighter into herself. Unfortunately, her position offered little escape. If she would not hear reason, let her see it for herself, Elessar thought. "Aralya," he said softly, kneeling beside her, "will you look at me?"  
  
"No," Aralya whispered. "My very gaze is vile and polluted."  
  
"I would risk it," Elessar replied. "And if you would not grant me this request, then I command you as your king and as your father." For a moment Aralya paused, still beyond reason, considering. She had always been rebellious but never particularly disobedient, and even as she tried to shake off the love granted to her she could not deny her heart. Slowly she twisted her neck, until her eyes and Elessar's were level.  
  
"He cannot be gone!" Aralya wailed suddenly. "He cannot!" She collapsed, sobbing again. Elessar pulled her into his arms, and she accepted his condolences. Usually she was more stubborn than her father was, and though they contested their wills he caved before her on nearly every occasion. Grief had stripped Aralya of who she was.  
  
When Aralya could no longer summon another tear, Elessar asked her delicately, "Would you like to go back to bed, or go on with the day?"  
  
"Nothing is going to go away if I ignore it, Ada. You taught me that," Aralya reminded him, sniffing a bit as she got to her feet.  
  
"I also taught you to know when you are defeated," Elessar replied, concerned about Aralya's mental state. Rest would do her good. Then, perhaps Aralya was the sort who needed to just return to a routine. It was impossible to know, for Aralya was not always consistent.  
  
"And that it is better to die fighting than running away," Aralya returned sharply. Elessar smiled. She was definitely back to normal. "What time is it?"  
  
"It is nearly time for the afternoon meal."  
  
"By the Valar! You have been here since last night?"  
  
"I have."  
  
"Well, I am sorry for taking so much of your time," Aralya said courteously. "And thank you. There were other things to be done, other duties--"  
  
"This I will not have," Elessar interrupted. "I have done what was required of me while your mother sat by your side, then I did my duty as a father." Aralya did not respond, but it took her a good long moment to clear the tears of love and appreciation from her eyes.  
  
*****  
  
After eating, although she was not hungry and hardly could bear to swallow a bite, Aralya excused herself to go walk in the gardens. As soon as she was outside, her boots flew from the ground, each hurried step bringing her heel up high enough to kick herself. Dirt flew up from the souls of her shoes.  
  
Aralya had not the patience to circle around the row of snapdragons she was rapidly approaching. Her arms, formed into right angles, swung hard back and forth as she lifted herself off the ground, hurdling over the yellow blossoms, landing hard on the other side. She did not stop but kept on running.  
  
*****  
  
"Is she going to be all right, Father?" Eldarion asked as his sister headed outside. "Shall I speak to her?"  
  
Elessar shook his head. "If Aralya wishes to pretend that she is just fine, we must play along with her. Try not to let her know, Eldarion. There are certain subtleties. And you? You are all right?"  
  
"Boromir was my brother, but not as he was Aralya's. What will be done about the murder?"  
  
With a wary glance in the direction of Arwen and Bjourn, Elessar responded, "That is a matter for another time, as you well know."  
  
Eldarion understood, and he returned to the remnants of his meal. Subtleties. . .that would be easy enough to manage. He grieved the loss of his brother, but a military leader of five years he was accustomed to holding his own under stress and woe. Aralya, however, was different. She knew nothing of war, little of loss. Eldarion would do what he could, he resolved, even if she preferred her façade.  
  
*****  
  
For perhaps twenty minutes Aralya had run when she saw the weeping willow up ahead. A burst of speed came over her, and she sprinted the rest of the way to the tree. Gently but with great speed she parted the hanging greenery, and as the leaves swished softly together again the princess, with all her dignity, collapsed to the damp ground, hugging a large stone.  
  
This stone was curved at the top, with dropping sides, and it read as follows:  
  
Margate Telcontar  
  
Otso Yende-Tar  
  
Firima Ainur  
  
May she rest in peace  
  
"Are you watching us?" Aralya whispered. "Is our brother with you now?" Usually, the large purple and yellow blooms that grew from vine on the willow, perfumed the air, but today they seemed strangely unscented. As Aralya knelt by her baby triplet's grave, she rubbed away her tears that fell anew.  
  
"I was always there for him," she continued. "Why this one time did I have to fail him? How could I have done that, Margate? Can you ever forgive me for it?"  
  
When Aralya awoke, her deep red dress had become stained with dirt and grass. The sun was setting. Aralya's legs burned no longer, but they had lost all feeling. Her head reeled and she made her slow way out of the haven of the tree into the wide world.  
  
The walk home took over an hour. Aralya opened the door and closed it behind her. Slowly she made her weary way down the hall, trying to think up a decent excuse, when her vision shorted out again. Deciding to just sit it out this time, she ducked into the first room she found.  
  
What was this room? Aralya was completely disoriented. She felt her way to the room's center without interruption, then her hands hit a wooden tabletop. Fingers like spiders' legs made their way to the center of the table before hitting something. . .tenderly feeling whatever it was, Aralya felt her heart leap in terror. Her breathing grew short and rapid. She retracted her hand, but too late.  
  
Just in time her vision came back to her. One glance at her brother's mangled body, his horrified face, was enough to disturb Aralya for the rest of her life. Her own body tensed up, and she shook, too horrified to move. After a moment that lasted an eternity, she snapped out of her trance.  
  
A scream of no sound escape Aralya's lips, and she turned and ran from the room. Crazed, she flew through the corridor to her own room. Slamming the door behind her, Aralya panted to catch her breath. "My lady?" someone asked. Aralya looked up. It was Maya, Aralya's lady-in-waiting.  
  
"Leave me be!" she requested in a state of such disarray that her two ladies-in-waiting dared not argue. As soon as they were gone she changed into her nightclothes and fell to sleep in moments.  
  
She dreamed a dream, it felt like almost at once. She dreamed that Boromir was with her again, and they were young. It was fall, but an early snow had fallen the night before. They threw snowballs and wrestled with one another, built snow-Elves, snow-orcs, and snow-wargs. As the sun set they knew they had to return home, and they did. As Aralya lay in her bed, savoring the remains of the day's euphoria, Boromir crawled into bed beside her. They giggled, shrieking with laughter until finally Elessar told them to quiet down. Aralya drifted off to sleep.  
  
When she awoke, Boromir was still beside her. He smiled at her, and as soon as she returned his smile--he began to change. He seemed to be having a great struggle, and Aralya could do nothing to assist him. Blood began to pour from his eyes, and cuts all over his body.  
  
Aralya awoke in a cold sweat. She was drenched, and in her arm was--her heart raced, then slowed as she realized that it was only a pillow. In a fury she hurled the pillow across the room. It hit the wall and slid down. Fear had settled in on Aralya again, and she could not be in that room a moment longer.  
  
Out in the hall, every shadow was a bloodstain. Aralya shook as she made her way steadily along. To banish her fear, she began to sing a song in a shaky voice. "Ho, ho, ho to the bottle I go. . ." she sang, a song a Knight called Peregrin had taught to her. But the song was no good, for every small sound now was brought to Aralya's attention. She broke into a run, slamming open the door to Eldarion's room then closing it quickly behind her.  
  
"Eldarion!" Aralya hissed, shaking him. He was a deep sleeper and did not wake. Though she knew this, Aralya was frightened. She could not bear to lose him too! Why did he not wake? "Eldarion!" she said, desperate.  
  
"What is it?" he groaned, rolling to face her. Eldarion liked his sleep, and being woken up in the middle of the night was not exactly a past time for him. Nonetheless Aralya dared breath freely again.  
  
"Can I sleep in your room tonight?" Aralya asked.  
  
Eldarion moaned, giving his sister a look that clearly said 'If you do not go back to your own room right this instant I will tell Father and he will not be happy.' Aralya returned with a look of such pure terror that Eldarion melted completely. "Oh, all right," Eldarion submitted, scooting over so that Aralya could share the bed. "But no kicking."  
  
"Thank you!" Aralya breathed, curling up beside her brother. In moments she was asleep. There were no more nightmares that night.  
  
*****  
  
Author's Note: The gravestone was supposed to say, "Seventh Princess, Angel of Men" (Men as in mortals), but as I am not very good with Elvish it ended up as "Seven Daughter-King, Angelic Spirit of Men". It was Aralya's sister that was stillborn, of course. 


	5. Chapter V

Disclaimer: See earlier chapters. The hobbits ate the disclaimer for this chapter.  
  
Lady of Legolas: Sheesh, demanding, aren't you? Just kidding, of course! It's great to hear from you, and I update as often as possible.  
  
*****  
  
The sun taunted Aralya, hanging high and bright, cheerful in the sly above. Birds sang, and dragonflies with translucent wings fluttered about. It was the heat of summer. Lines of heat rose, obscuring any vision of distance, even that of an Elf. In short, the day was perfect.  
  
Aralya wore a dress of pure white. Her frock hung just below the knees, and was very plain, at her insistence. The white color had not been her idea, but it was part of the compromise between her and her father. The sleeves hardly passed her elbows and the neck was mid-long. Aralya's black hair fell in perfect contrast.  
  
A pyre of wood had been formed, and Boromir's body placed upon it. He would not have wanted to be burned, Aralya reflected, he would have preferred to have his body placed in the House of Kings, or, even better, interred in the earth. However, it was custom to incinerate bodies of such circumstances of death, and a thirteen-year-old girl could not compete with ages-old tradition.  
  
As words were said and a fire lit beneath the dead body of Boromir, Aralya wanted to cry. She wished she could, but since the night of the terrible dream she had not been allowed such a luxury. All she could do was stand and watch, as the one she loved above all others went up in flames.  
  
"My brother," she whispered, so quietly that not a single ear perceived. "I loved you so much. Why wasn't I there for you? Why did I bring this pain upon you?"  
  
She drew her dagger from her side. Before she knew what she was doing, or had time to think and stop herself, Aralya dug the blade into her flesh and dragged it across her palm. Blood streamed from the hand. Aralya rubbed the blood onto her perfect white dress, smearing crimson stains onto the white linen in crazy circles.  
  
After a time the pain reached her, or the odd tingling sensation that might otherwise have been pain. Aralya did not care. The portion of her dress that was not red with her blood was small, as far as she could see, and this pleased her. She had destroyed her physical being, and she had destroyed her dress--herself from without. Grief and guilt destroyed her from within.  
  
*****  
  
"My Lady, what happened?" Maya asked as soon as Aralya entered her chambers.  
  
"I do not wish to speak of it," Aralya said, her voice somewhere between grieved and dead. Maya had been Aralya's friend before she was her lady-in- waiting, and their friendship had continued just as much with the position. However, no one could take the place of Boromir in Aralya's heart. Maya could see this, and the offense of Aralya's cold words was minimal.  
  
"You bear your grief well, my lady, some day you shall be a strong queen," Cyra, Aralya's second lady-in-waiting, said. Cyra had not known Aralya before the two had met for employment reasons, but they got on well. Now, however, Aralya turned to Cyra with a face of disbelief.  
  
Without haste or emotion Aralya took her soiled gown from her body, and in her full-body slip she folded the dirtied linen and placed it in a wooden box beneath her bed. After that she looked at the dress on her bed. It was green, as the raiment of Yavanna, who was the mother of all things that grew. "How can I wear the colour of one who brings life, when I can give out naught but death?" Aralya asked in a callous voice  
  
Then she took the green dress and placed it back in her closet. She looked upon the fabric with eyes unseeing. "May I suggest that you wear grey, my lady?" Maya said carefully. "That Estë, who heals the wounded and also costumes herself in this colour, may be summoned to your heart?"  
  
"I will wear not grey, for my body is not broken," spoke Aralya, "but over my heart I shall wear a grey stone, that Estë may know exactly where my hurt is, should she find it within her power to heal me. Thank you, Maya." In her last words was more emotion than she had shown before, although not as much as she usually exploded with.  
  
In place of grey or green Aralya donned a dress of brown. No one would approve of it, she knew. Again she wore a short dress, this one coming to the center of her knees in the back, pleated slightly at the waist. The sleeves were short, so that they did not even fully cover her biceps. The dress had been made when Aralya was a year younger, and she knew it was not meant for her now. She wore it, anyway.  
  
The idea of a funeral party disgusted Aralya. Why should people come together and eat, of all things, when someone they were supposed to have loved had died? Were they wearing masks, only, of sadness?  
  
She did not speak to anyone who did not approach her. Instead she sat in the corner of the room, gripping the edges of her chair, looking around with obscured vision. She tried to occupy her mind, first counting down from one thousand then back up. Nine hundred ninety-four, nine hundred ninety-five--  
  
"Excuse me."  
  
Nine hundred ninety-six--  
  
"Aralya? Princess Aralya?"  
  
No ignoring him now, it was surely she he sought. Nine hundred ninety-seven- -  
  
"I do not mean to interrupt you, but might I speak with you a moment?"  
  
Nine hundred ninety-eight, nine hundred ninety-nine, Aralya's thoughts rushed onwards, one thousand. "Yes?" she said, at last seeing the person before her. He had hair like a mop and soft eyes, not soft but open. "What do you seek?" she asked.  
  
"Well. . .I. . .that is, I knew your father, and I thought perhaps. . ."  
  
Since when did people become speechless around Aralya? She had never known such a thing to happen. "Many people know him," Aralya replied. "He is a King."  
  
"I knew him before that," said the person.  
  
"Really? I did not." Aralya was uninterested, at most.  
  
"Your life does not have to end, simply because you lost someone you loved," he offered.  
  
Aralya was furious. "Do not," she stated, her entire being shaking with anger, "presume to tell me how I feel. Do not presume that you understand what is happening to me. Do not!" Before she could think she acted, pulling back her arm and thrusting I forward. Whomever she had been speaking to, for she knew not his name, fell back in surprise. Aralya jumped up from her chair, tears of surprise, alarm, and a few far darker things springing to her eyes as she tore from the room.  
  
Aralya's feet slammed into the steps as she ran, counting. One-two, one- two, she thought, slam-slam, slam-smash. Top of the staircase, around the corner, down this corridor. . .Aralya did not think as she hurried onwards, in seconds reaching her room and bursting inside. She threw the door closed behind her and curled up in the fetal position on her bed.  
  
"My lady--" Cyra and Maya approached, but Aralya bade them stay back.  
  
"Please leave me be," she whimpered. Cyra was shocked, never having heard her lady so weakened. Maya, however, was familiar with this voice.  
  
"Do as she asks," Maya said quietly, lightly leading Cyra out of the room. Aralya convulsed with sobs on her bed, hating herself for so many reasons.  
  
Meanwhile, Merry, who had received a smack from a girl as he tried to console her, put his hands to his face in pain. There was a murmur and a silence. Merry looked at his palms and saw blood. What sort of a child. . .?  
  
"Meriadoc, I do apologize for her," Elessar said to his friend.  
  
"It is all right," said Merry. As feeling returned to his face, the pain was really a dull ache, despite the bleeding nose. "There is no real injury done. After all, compared to Frodo's I have never been done a real injury in my life!"  
  
"And a good attitude, that is," stated Legolas, who had approached without alerting anyone else. "Aragorn, shall I go and speak with her?" Legolas and Aralya had an almost-kinship, developed in days she could not remember, when Aralya had been just recently born.  
  
"No, Legolas, I think this time I had best go," Elessar replied. "Make sure Merry is indeed unharmed, if you would please." He turned and, with that, strode after his daughter.  
  
Though Aralya had requested to be left alone she could not control the actions of her father. Elessar, though he would not leave Aralya on her own, entered the room gently, and did not speak until he was sitting beside Aralya's curled form on her mattress. "It was hard on you, losing Boromir like that. I know. But you cannot go on acting like this, it is unacceptable."  
  
"I do not care," Aralya replied, her voice itself a sob. "I have nothing left to live for."  
  
"Aralya, listen to me," Elessar said, his voice no longer friendly but one of authority. He knew that she was not listening, and so he lifted her up and forced her to sit. "You have something left to live for. You cannot go on moping like this for the rest of your days. Everyone loses someone, you are not the first nor are you the last."  
  
"Yes, but--"  
  
"This behaviour will stop," Elessar said stiffly. "Tomorrow you will apologize to Meriadoc for bloodying his nose, and you will continue with life as a normal person. Is this completely understood?"  
  
Aralya could do nothing but nod meekly.  
  
"Good. I shall see you in the morning. Pleasant dreams." Elessar stood and left the room, his anger lingering even after he had returned, seen that Meriadoc was indeed fine, and sought Arwen. She was prepared for this, the death of Margate readying her for any other such loss.  
  
"What is it?" Arwen asked, knowing at once that something trouble Elessar.  
  
"Aralya," he admitted. "I was rather harsh with her."  
  
"She must carry on," Arwen replied prophetically. "I have seen Men wander the earth for years after such a loss. Would you have this fate for your daughter?"  
  
"I suppose that I would not," Elessar replied. "Thank you, Arwen."  
  
"'Twas nothing," she assured him, "but hold to your words." 


	6. Chapter VI

"You cannot, sir, take from me anything that I will more willingly part withal - except my life, except my life"  
  
-Hamlet, Shakespeare's Hamlet  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any recognizable characters and/or places thereof.  
  
Author's note: GUESS WHAT!! I GET TO MEET THE TWINS THAT PLAY THE TWINS IN THE MATRIX RELOADED!!! I JUST THOUGHT I WOULD SHARE THAT BECAUSE I AM REALLY EXCITED ABOUT IT!  
  
Ambertiger666: Thanks! Sorry if you were confused, but you get it now, right? Yeah, this chapter is majorly angsty.  
  
Lady of Legolas: Thanks. Despite demanding reviewers, I had writer's block. . .  
  
*****  
  
Aralya felt leaden when she awoke the next morning. Mechanically, she brushed her hair and tied it back. In the same disconnected manner she dressed in a tunic and pants. She had been ordered to go on with life, and perhaps her body would do so, but her heart was still empty. She could make herself look presentable and alive, but inside she withered and died.  
  
When Arwen saw her daughter that morning, tears came to her eyes. "Aralya," Arwen said in a strange tone, embracing her tightly. Aralya did not understand why her mother did this, but she allowed it without interest. Arwen buried her face in her daughter's hair, clinging as long as she could before at last releasing the girl. Aralya, dazed, stumbled off to find Meriadoc and apologize.  
  
"Arwen, mani naa ta? Mankoi lle uma tanya?" [What is it? Why did you do that?] Elessar asked.  
  
Arwen sniffed, and with a drawn, sad look, she said, "I can bear you no more children Elessar. I am tired of losing them." Her resolve in this was frightening, and Elessar realized what she was implying.  
  
"No," he said, "that cannot be. Her heart is not broken, Arwen, it is but a daze, a shock."  
  
"Elessar," Arwen said, touching his face gently, "Estel." This unexpected act awed him into silence. "Her heart is broken. I have seen it before. Herb lore will not save her." Elessar it had been that was at first cold to Aralya because she was not a boy, and Aralya had made her way into his heart. Now it was Elessar that could not accept her fate.  
  
"Love," he said, "love can save her." He had heard, years ago, that love could save a broken heart. He had been young at the time, and when he asked Elrond if love could heal a broken heart Elrond mutter only one word: "Celebrian". Years later, Elessar had learned who Celebrian was. He remembered her then, remembered that she had gone on only with life without memory--that is, in a land she had no memory of. Would Aralya pass to Valinor? To Mandos, perhaps?  
  
"Who does she love as she loved him?" Arwen asked, but her heart sparked with hope. Just maybe. . .  
  
*****  
  
"Meriadoc?" Merry turned to see Aralya standing behind him. He and Peregrin had just been enjoying their second breakfast when she arrived. Merry swallowed as Pippin looked on in interest.  
  
"Yes?" Merry replied at length.  
  
"I--I'm sorry. That I hit you," Aralya said. "I never meant to hurt you. But I was upset." She could no longer form sentences describing cause and effect. She could hardly even see anymore. Slowly all that was Aralya was slipping away, and she did not fight to keep it. She did not bother. She did not want to. By not helping herself, Aralya was committing slow suicide.  
  
"Oh, that's all right," Merry said. "After all, Elanor did ask for stories. . ." Pippin laughed. When Aralya did not blush, but instead only blinked, the hobbits glanced worriedly at each other. "Are you all right?"  
  
"Fine. . .just fine," Aralya replied shakily. The two were very worried, and unsure of what to do, when they were spared this discomfort by two Elves approaching. These two particular Elves looked identical to one another and not unlike Aralya, either, observed Merry as Elladan hugged his niece and ruffled her hair.  
  
"Sorry," he said, pulling his hand back, "I forget how old you are." But when Aralya made no protest or response of any kind, Elladan and Elrohir glanced at each other in worry. "Aralya? Are you all right?"  
  
"I. . ." she shook her head. "Fine. Just tired. . .I think I should go back to bed. . ." She turned to go, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her.  
  
Elrohir swallowed hard, then said, "Why not break your fast with us, Aralya. . .Elladan and I must leave soon, and we hoped to spend more time with you in our visit. . .We can imagine how difficult it is, knowing that Boromir left you with the duty to carry on."  
  
Aralya still did not reply, but sat with her uncles through the meal, eating nothing and speaking only when directly addressed. Elladan and Elrohir were afraid to see her this way, especially afraid after she had suggested going to bed--for they knew that if she did so, she would not wake up again. They saw her little, but she was the daughter of their sister, and would be dear to them even if she were not. They knew heartbreak, as did Arwen, and they were just as frightened as she was.  
  
"What are we going to do?" Elladan asked aloud. Elrohir motioned at Aralya, suggesting silently that they ought not talk about this in front of her. "She cannot hear us."  
  
"It is not as though she is not there, Elladan--"  
  
"But it is, Elrohir. She is."  
  
"By Iluvatar, you talk as if my daughter were naught but a corpse," said Arwen, entering and sitting beside her brothers. Elrohir shot Elladan a warning look. "Aralya," Arwen said, "would you like to come with me today? I am going to gather herbs outside of the city."  
  
"Yes," Aralya said. There was not a single person at that table then who believed she knew what she had agreed to. 


End file.
